These words must go out.
I can't keep them in.

There was never the right time.
There were never favourable conditions.

But tonight...
The words have formed,
the heart willing,
and opportunity ripe.

Let fall the contents so carelessly...
So they may be caught by magnanimous ears.

But so many variables need to align
in sync.
So many delicate parts to click nicely in place.

Tonight was a chance grossly misread.
I conveniently indulged in signs that had me misled.

So again I swallow...
For tonight no ears are ready.

A leaf that falls from its perch
meets its death as it crumbles to dust
and is consumed by the earth.

It embodies the soil and is then
consumed again...
This time by its brethren.

A mind that falls from its perch,
its pedestal, meets its doom...
In a slow, agonising descent
that does not yield any end.

It falls endless...
crashes through layers of truth,
caught in webs of the untruthful.
Stretches apart and collapses into
itself until death comes to claim,
disguised as madness.

I'm in my place.
A tiny space I've claimed for myself.

Though I share this spot,
right now it's mine.

With the door latched shut,
I leave the disorderly world,
just an arm-span away.

In my makeshift asylum,
I still hear calls from the outside.
Beckoning and inviting me into
the unrelenting foray...
Pointless skirmishes,
and mistimed altercations.

When all I want is...
To be alone; be empty
and devoid of unruly thoughts in my husk.
Because in the rare silence,
I desperately seek peace.

Peace with my past.
Peace with myself.
So I don't eat myself whole.
Because my world still needs me.

.
Peer into the keyhole.

And seek what you may…

But with your eyes
you will find not,
what it is you seek.

For it must be the heart
that commands this salvage.

.

I hope you understand
when my lips seal shut
and my touch,
empty and cold.

I hope you understand
when my words are hardly
voiced and my silence
grow thick and bold.

I hope you understand
when I appear disconcerted
and this skin just rubs me irate.

I hope you understand
that I am in battle
and the demons
are at the gate.

.
He'd arrived at the door
many times.
His fingers would always
wrap around the **** with surety
and little hesitation.

He’d pause...
Just to relish the initial sting
of the coolness
in the brass and let it
soothe the creaks in the bones
and skin on calloused fingertips.

When he was ready,
he’d twist but
his wrist wouldn't work.
Like a hinge that hasn’t seen grease,
it wouldn't comply.
It would freeze because
he is afraid...

He knows well what awaits
beyond the threshold of this doorway.
He knows of what he craves
that calls like a siren beyond the door.

But yet...
He’s afraid.
Because what he wants the most
scares him so.

And opening this door leads to...




Closure.

.

A swing slung low with weathered ropes
Worn, sun-beaten wood told tales of abuse
Once swung high - a vessel for the her hopes
Never once judged, even everyday a new bruise

It’d take her, accommodating her heart’s fancy
It’d carry her and cradle her fragility gentle
She’d forget her tears as she flew almost freely
Winds would whisper of a place far and simple

It’d scoop her up - made light of what seemed heavy
It’d drink up her laughter, release her captive innocence
It’d hold her aloft as it promised her safety
Together they’d immerse, in an intimate dalliance

Went on forever, as days turned into weeks
A girl and her swing, lost in their very own world
Alas the swing couldn’t offer the salvation she seeks
None could tell, what evil twist had brutally unfurled

                                     •••

A swing hung limp, silent as it woefully wept
Its worn wood sang only songs of stifled cries
For once it knew a girl, whose painful secrets it kept
Now judges itself remorsefully, as she fades and dies

Let us hunker down...

Let's submit to each other's embrace,
and may our arms form
our very own private sanctuary.

Let us be shielded
from the debris and shrapnel
of malicious intent.

Let our fingers be free
to wipe the dirt and tears
from each other's eyes.

Let us be afraid together,
for in this cocoon,
there may yet be some mettle.

Let us still be sheltered...
For the storm is not yet over.

our mouths go dry,
our actions get lazy,
our anchors unmoored,
our directions change,
our bearings are misaligned,
our charts remain unplotted,
our complacencies swell,
our greed metastasise,
our ignorance nurtured...


How then,
would our story end?

.

.
     Our stance strong,
     our conviction -
     unwavering,
     brandishing knives
     with blunt tips.

                           But our hearts fail
                           to acknowledge
                           the shallow
                           and feeble breaths
                           that hide behind
                           cracked ribs.

The mind
must realise

just as
the heart
must feel.

That these
thoughts
do bite

and that
the perils
are real.

Captured and shackled
to a wick of flesh and bone.

Thoughts as kindle,
takes spark -
setting alight what fuel
that runs within.

Anticipated blaze -
you know but never
acknowledge.

Time is here and now...

So pardon me
while I burst
into flames...

.

A flow so eloquent,

it almost explains the reasons

behind unspoken meanings

and blaring untruths.

A voice for the mysteries of my universe.

Even though it trips in gait,

and speaks in babbles.

The boy no longer goes by that name
He was told that it only cycles the same

That boy you once knew is no longer
The battles he fought only saw him falter

Most would say to persevere like anyone should
But he ate into himself like you knew he would

Weak is his spirit like the sun rays of a new day’s dawn
A mere thread holds feeble before he is long gone

Molten stories smelted
and poured like ashened gold.

We turn to paper
as coffers for lesser ingots - old.

In hopes to lessen;
nay, diminish thy gaping hole.

In hopes to relinquish
and set free caged memories stole.

.

A tombstone
that lays unseen…
Unmarked
but known to a few.

”Herein
lies a heart
that beats
in syncopation -
for two.”

.

Do our minds align?
Just as our fingers once did….

The skins of our palms would kiss,
and hold true to words unsaid.
Clasped indefinite,
and they mirrored in gait.

Never unsure
and never faltering,
they danced in determined embrace;
leaving no room for the tendrils of doubt.

So tell me…

Do our hearts still align?
Just as our beats once did…

It’s so old and used,

and it barely did it’s job.

It had to be quickly replaced,

and put down...
                              without a sob.

They say
that love
is a fool’s errand...

I guess
I just enjoy
running errands.